


Hook, Line, Sinker

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cannibalism, Come Inflation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood, Multi, Multiple Penetration, Non-Explicit Cannibalism, Please Help Me Tag This, Vomiting, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve got the jitters all the way from your toes to your aural fins for it as you spot the neon sign up ahead, loudly proclaiming “SPACEDUST” in jittery, neon-orange lettering against the rising dawn. The music pumps through your bones even from this distance, and you can see some trolls just loitering around or dancing even out here. Most of them are lowbloods, you notice, which makes you grin as you approach- they don’t stand a chance against a seadweller’s particular charm; you’re going to be warding the lot of them off with a stick by the end of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook, Line, Sinker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BugTongue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugTongue/gifts).



> Underage is because the lowbloods and Karkat are about 14-17. Karkat himself is only about 14. Alternia!  
> Also, playlist I worked on this to is [here!](http://8tracks.com/chess-and-snickers/spacedust)  
> Special thanks to Sailershanty, Rocker Crocker, and Cervineghost for inspiring this whole awful mess. Enjoy!

Your name is Cronus Ampora and this is the best decision you’ve ever made.

So, you’ve also said that about a few other decisions, but this one is objectively the best. Basically, you’ve decided to go out clubbing on one of the coreworlds, Alternia to be exact, where the young rule and the party never stops or gets less dangerous. You’re actually a little old to be hanging around this particular planet, since there’s that law about all adult trolls staying offworld, but hell, you were sick and tired of bumpkinland Beforus and how “soft” it apparently was compared to the coreworlds, and you’d heard all kinds of fun things about the core of the Empire, underneath its veneer of militaristic austerity. All kinds of fun, lovely things, like the kind of ass you could get in the club scene with all the horny, unsupervised soldiers-in-the-making, just wanting to cut loose from their nightly lives.

You’ve got the jitters all the way from your toes to your aural fins for it as you spot the neon sign up ahead, loudly proclaiming “SPACEDUST” in jittery, neon-orange lettering against the rising dawn. The music pumps through your bones even from this distance, and you can see some trolls just loitering around or dancing even out here. Most of them are lowbloods, you notice, which makes you grin as you approach- they don’t stand a chance against a seadweller’s particular charm; you’re going to be warding the lot of them off with a stick by the end of the day.

You shoulder your way in through the door and immediately you’re hit with the smell of some kind of liquor and all kinds of concupiscent pheromones. Holy shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if there were people fucking on the dancefloor in this nasty place. It’d be just like these pent up peeps to do that, especially without anyone watching to make sure they’re using pails or otherwise going to make sure their sex is for the good of the Empire. You grin even wider as you enter the crush of gyrating bodies that sway and jump to the time of the pounding music. Already you can feel someone’s ass right against your crotch and someone’s bulge right against your ass, and it’s perfect and dizzying and goddamn this was a great idea.

Somehow you’re shoved-danced-led through the wild mess of entangled trolls (some of which are definitely a few good grinds away from fucking then and there) until you find yourself in a semi-clear patch of the dancefloor with no one dancing with you. Shame, really, and you’re not about to start dancing alone like some loser. You suddenly miss the ass that was grinding against you just a minute ago. Still, you sway along with everyone so you don’t look out of place- precisely the wrong kind of standing out if you did- and you manage to find yourself at the bar at last.

The menu is surprisingly varied for a place like this- though considering the kind of crowd this establishment caters to, that just means there’s more than shitty knockoff beer- but before you can contemplate this too long, the bartender’s already set something in front of you. It’s bright, fuckoff red and smells faintly of cherry cough syrup, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if there actually was cough syrup in the stuff. You raise an eyebrow and the bartender, a yellowblood with what appears to be a half chewed-off left horn that gestures to your right with a grin and a wink.

So of course you look that way and hello dolly, someone attractive is sitting just a couple seats away. Attractive and barely dressed, in a short-cropped shirt that looks like it was ripped that way and tight jeans that look almost painted on. Your eyes are fixated alternatingly on an ass you could bounce a ceagar off of and the sleek curve of their waist, that smooth expanse of soft grey skin. Shit, was that a gillslit? Another seadweller in a place like this?  He raises his own drink to you, a tall glassful of whatever hellish concoction he’s ordered for you, and you grin and raise yours back, tipping it back into your mouth.

There isn’t cough syrup in there, but it’s fruit-sour and strong and burns down to your gills, makes you wish it _was_ cough syrup. Tears prickle in your eyes and you definitely don’t whimper. He kind of rolls his eyes and stands up, fucking _sashays_ over to you, for lack of a better term. That perfect ass plants itself firmly on the seat beside you and the troll leans over the counter, and yep, that’s a gillslit, shut tight against the muggy air of the club.

You cough, and force yourself not to stare. You do notice how short he is though, shorter than you by maybe half a head or more, and how nubby his horns are; they’re small, round, and goddamn adorable, and you want to cop a feel so bad it’s indecent to even think about. You also find yourself noticing that he doesn’t have aural fins, too; doesn’t even have the long, pointed ears of a highblood. They’re lowblood-round and tinted faintly… red? It’s hard to tell in the clubs poison-pink lighting.

“Hey.” You manage to say, as smoothly as possible. You turn around in your seat and rest your elbows on the counter, studying this mystery troll a little further.

“Hey.” He says back, voice raspy and husky and fuck, does everything about this troll have to shoot straight to your bulge? You feel like a pre-moult again and he’s probably at least three sweeps younger than you, and yet those eyes he’s making at you are making you sweat. Get a hold of yourself. You’re at least a caste higher than him.

You lick your lips and get another shot of sharpness on your tongue, and you make a face. “So what’s this drink you just sent me? You can’t honestly tell me you _like_ this crap.” Yes, insult his choice of drink, perfect way to start a conversation. You suddenly want to rip one of your aural fins off.

But mercifully, he doesn’t get up to walk away, just plucks your glass out of your hands and, without breaking eye contact, tips it back. You break eye contact first to watch the way his throat moves, and suddenly your mouth is dry and not just because of the chemical sting of alcohol.

“There’s a trick to it.” He says, and then you see the faint twitch of the left corner of his lip, upwards, almost a smirk. “But it tastes better to a first timer if you drink it off someone else.”

Oh, damn, that was forward. You didn’t even get a chance to put in your own moves, not that you mind because hello wiggly, didn’t notice your own bulge was starting to make itself known, heavy in your sheathe. He straightens his back a little and you get a better look at his gillslits. That’s so _weird,_ a lowblood seadweller. You want to lick those slits. Fuck.

“Bulbs up here?” Oh, you were staring. You look into his eyes, and you can see yourself reflected in the still-grey irises. He’s got fucking antlerbeast eyes, long lashes and wide pupils, that’s so unfair.

“’s hard not to stare, chief.” You answer, slick back the hair between your horns as casual as you please. “Puttin’ yourself out there the way you do, and all that you’re hells of attractive. I was guessin’ you wanted someone starin’.”

That makes him smile. Score one for Cronus Ampora, because you sure as Hell need them with all the points he’s been getting just through nonverbal alone, so you continue along that line with a grin of your own. “I can’t help but notice you’ve been sittin’ alone over there, too, and I do apologize for not gettin’ up and introducin’ myself properly. Name’s Cronus, by the way.”

“Cronus.” He says. You like the way he says it, you decide. He nods and sips his drink again, does a little thing with his tongue to the rim that makes you go tingly all over before he speaks. “Mine’s Karkat.”

“Alright.” Now you’re getting somewhere, and you can see his own eyes wandering up and down your body despite his earlier admonition towards you. That only makes him cuter somehow. “Eyes up here?” You repeat after him, and when he looks up at you there’s no mistaking the blush that makes its way across his cheekbones, especially with the shade of grey his skin is. Mutant, huh? You’re surprised he’s actually here. Well, not _here,_ seedy downtown club that it is, but here on Alternia, considering what you’ve heard about how they treat mutants on the homeworld.

But you’re not one to question it if it’s going to get you lucky. It’s almost unfair, how the odds were tipped in your favour tonight. You tilt your head down a little, your eyes half-lidded as you do your best sex voice for him. “How’s about when you finish that drink of yours, we give the dancefloor a go?” And you see a slight shiver go down his spine. Another point for you.

You’re glad to see him finish off that nasty shit and turn to look at you. His eyes are half-lidded too, and you’re not sure if he’s tipsy or interested, but hell if the two can’t intertwine. “Yeah, I could go for something to get the blood back to the rest of me.” He says, and you take a moment to appreciate the implications of that, your eyes drawn immediately to his crotch where a faint bump has made itself known. Hell yes.

The two of you stand and immediately he pushes you towards the dancefloor, and you’re surprised at what sort of strength a little guy like him has because you go easily, stumbling slightly on your feet. What was in that drink he ordered for you? Whatever it was it’s made the world bright and blurry around the edges by now, and you’ve only had a little bit. How he’s faring, you have no idea.

Point is that you’re back in the bump and grind of dancing trolls, only this time you’ve got your arms full of Karkat, grinding against you in turn, looking up at you with all sorts of alluring little plays to his expression and movements. He’s hot, literally hot; you can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, can feel warmth wherever he guides your hands against his smooth skin- you get to cop that feel you wanted of his horns and feel more than hear him moan because of it. He licks his lips slow and pornographic and you’re so fixated on his tongue that you can’t breathe.

The best part is he looks just as taken in with you as you are with him, his mouth slightly parted as he grinds deliciously against you. Your bulge has long since decided to start squirming out of your sheathe, and you can see the telltale squirm of his own in those ridiculously tight pants of his. You grope him shamelessly and he gasps, tilting his head back, and you take the opportunity to get your mouth all over his neck and feel him tremble under you. He tastes faintly of salt, and concupiscent pheromones so potent you can practically drink them in as you lick over the trembling skin over his throat and close your teeth around his windpipe; he moans again, and you note just the faintest tinge of fear in that moan as your sharp little teeth scrape the skin. His hand tangles in your hair, mussing it up as he guides you lower, to his collarbones, which you practically slobber all over as you suck and nibble marks onto him.

“Come on.” He breathes over your head, and you pull back to look at his face. He’s so flushed that there’s no hiding his color even in the glaring lights, and his pupils have practically taken up his irises entirely. He gives you a dopey little smile and kisses you on the mouth, teeth bumping yours.

You groan into his lips and don’t stop grinding to the rhythm, but now your focus is on the taste of him. There’s that awful liquor taste but he was right, it does taste better on someone else, if only because you can distract yourself from it with _his_ taste. He tastes like cheap lemon soda and iron and something chalky and medicinal, which should be disgusting but knowing where it’s coming from makes it one of the best things you’ve ever tried, and you plunge your tongue into the heat of his mouth to seek out more of that taste, and more of his moaning, thrumming against your lips because the music is too loud for you to hear it any other way.

Karkat tugs on your hair again before his hand moves to one of your horns and closes hotly around the base, squeezing and rubbing the sensitive membrane there like you’d imagine he could do to your bulge if you could think straight beyond _yes good more keep doing that._ You’re so preoccupied with his mouth and his body all up against you that it surprises you more than any of the rest of tonight’s surprises when he pinches your hornbed, the bright sting shocking in all the sweetness of him, making you groan again.

“Like that, huh?” He murmurs against your mouth when you withdraw your tongue, and you feel him smile, one clawtip circling the place where he pinched your horn and making your scalp tingle pleasantly. He pulls away from you just enough that you’ve got some breathing room to really appreciate what a catch you got today, God bless Alternia, and gives you this saucy little grin where you notice just the faintest hint of violet on his fucked up teeth. That should probably not be as sexy as it is.

He tugs you forward by your shirt and you almost tip right into him, but for some miracle you suppose, as he guides you through the throngs and to the edge of the dancefloor where you can hear him when he tugs your head down by one horn and murmurs into your ear, practically tonguefucking it you think. “How much further do you want to go?”

Your bloodpusher is thudding so hard against your ribs that you’re not sure if you’re nervous or excited or it’s because of all the physical exertion the two of you had just put yourselves through. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and you’re pretty sure yours is in similar shape, and you don’t care except you want to grab a fistful of his hair and start kissing him again. But you don’t do that, instead composing yourself and licking the wound he left on your lower lip that you didn’t notice until now. It didn’t even hurt, which you think is strange, but you’re alright with that; the taste of blood puts everything in sharp focus again, and your aural fins do an interested little wave.

“Can I say as far as we can?” You say, and you think that’s the right answer because there’s another one of his weird little smiles like the clawfiend with the lame grub. Your bulge twists again in your pants, far too tight for the size of it, and you’re weirdly alright with being the lame grub in Karkat’s eyes because you are _very_ eager for him to just eat you up.

“Come on.” He practically growls against your fin, nipping it, and you shiver in the best possible way.

You let him guide you past the throngs of people, back outside to an alleyway already lighting up with the coming dawn, the air prickling warm on your skin, and for a moment you think you’re seriously going to get a blowjob in an alley like something out of a really bad porno, but he seems to _disappear through the wall_ for a moment, before you realize, he’s just gone behind the club. You follow him and see him pulling down the stairs for a fire escape, shadows gone weird and lavender around him, a sharp slice of morning light falling across him and you wonder how he managed that or if it was down partway already; either way, he’s going up the rickety metal steps, and he turns his head once your head is eye-level with his ass to say “Are you coming or what?”

“Yes, please.” You clamber onto the stairs with him like an overeager barkbeast and now you think he’s just being a fucking tease, because sometimes he lets you come in close enough to grab him, only to wriggle away with that ass just impudently right in front of you, holy shit. You manage one, hearty slap on the left cheek that makes him yelp and straighten his back, but he flashes his teeth at you for it in a grin that makes your bulge feel _really_ cramped. You’re not sure if it’s desperation or he’s actually slowing down or what, but when the two of you manage to reach the third floor, you finally catch him. The music from below still thuds through your bones, out of beat with your pulse but sending waves of heady vibration through every part of you, horns, aural fins, teeth, amplified when you press Karkat against the wall and kiss him again and he grinds right against your bulge.

The light is starting to sting, so you close your eyes. You don’t notice his hand closing around a doorknob so you practically shove him into the block when the door opens, but you never let go of him through it, still sucking on his mouth, still groping his ass, still trying to get off through your clothes. He actually growls and the faint prickle of fear you should get from it only fuels the hot stab of lust that goes through you.

Then he’s shoving you back with all the force he can muster, which isn’t inconsiderable when it knocks your back against the door with a thud, shutting you both into comforting darkness. He’s pressing a thigh between your legs and his hands are going for your bulge, though, so you don’t mind; merely growl with lust right back and bite back for his biting you earlier. Your teeth are sharper and longer and you hear him groan as he claws at the front of your pants until at last he gets the damned button undone and pulls your fly down, and embarrassingly enough your bulge doesn’t even wait for him to get your underwear out of the way; it just uncoils in a long rush that makes you gasp when it slides across his hot belly, leaving a smear of violet in its wake.

For a moment you’re a little mortified but also incredibly turned on by the sight, and then you groan pathetically in the back of your throat because one of his hot, smooth hands just closed around the base of your bulge while the other was swiping some of your genetic material off his belly. He looked at the stuff on his fingers before looking up at you and, without breaking eye contact, puts them in his mouth and starts to _suck._

You really mean _suck_ , with accompanying sloppy noises and beads of drool getting all over his hand. It’s honestly messier than it would have been to just wipe it off on his shirt, but that’s probably the point because he’s stroking your bulge with his other hand and grinding against the base of it and you’re probably going to stain his pants if he keeps this up, but you honestly don’t care. (And truth be told, you wouldn’t mind getting a good, long look at Karkat covered in your slurry, though you would really prefer to fuck him properly.) The two of you stay like that until you get bored, which isn’t long; you’re burning up with need, and by now you’ve had more than your fair share of grinding. You pull his fingers out of his mouth and his hand off your bulge, even though that felt really, _really_ good, with the contrast in your temperatures; but he gets the picture, it isn’t enough for him either, he was starting to pant anyway.

He pulls away from you to pull his crop top over his head and you take a moment to appreciate the way his muscles bunch and stretch under his skin even with that layer of wriggler fat still padding everything; you get your hands up and squeeze his waist and he only looks at you through his long, long lashes before he unzips and his own bulge worms its way out. He’s smaller than you, only about the size of a hand, but you think that’s probably for the best- you want that in your mouth immediately, all of it, at least until you can get _your_ bulge in him somewhere. So you get on your knees in front of him and he gets his hands on your horns again as you look up at him in a way you hope is alluring while your tongue slides along the underside of his bulge, and he groans in the sexiest way you’ve heard all night. His bulge twists against your lips as you suckle on the underside and you can feel him shaking from where your hands are on his hips, his fingers tightening on your horns in a way that makes your head spin a little.

“Fuck,” He swears down at you softly, gasps the word, rolling his hips against your mouth and you haven’t even taken him in yet. When you do, he makes that really sweet groan again and urges you to take him deeper by pulling your horns forward.

So admittedly, a hand-sized bulge feels a _lot_ bigger once it’s actually in your mouth, and you feel your throat convulsing around it when the tip reaches your tonsils, your gillslits flaring with the need to breathe and only getting stinging air in response to the action. That’s probably bad for you, but hell if you’re going to let up on what you’re doing with the noises he’s making, purrs and chirps and those moans that you want to swallow up straight from his mouth. At any rate, he pulls you off his bulge and you whine but you quickly realize it’s for the best because if he cums down your throat, you might not actually get laid. Not wanting to risk that, you follow him up as he pulls your horns up and let him kiss you, god he tastes good mixed with his own material. It should be so gross but it isn’t, it’s weird.

“Come on.” He murmurs against your mouth and you feel him pulling back so you follow and find yourself being led through the block, the floor still thumping beneath you, until you reach a cramped little concupiscent platform. The sheets have been stripped off and replaced with some kind of rubbery stuff, which you suspect means he was _definitely_ looking to get some action tonight. Sweet.

You push him down onto the rubbery mattress and he starts clawing down your shirt, blunt nails along your back and over your gillslits just enough to sting, just enough to make you shudder against him. Your bulges are making a mess between you two, getting more prematerial all over the place than strictly necessary and staining all your clothes. He helps you out of your shirt, drags it over your back while you obediently duck your head so your horns don’t catch on the neck hole. Then you get off him just to work off your pants and he starts tugging his lower down his legs and- fuck, he’s naked in front of you and his pupils are blown wide and there’s genetic material all over his belly, he’s fucking _purring_ and you don’t know how much more your bulge is going to be able to take.

The next thing he does makes you whine because he actually turns over and raises his hips, presenting the bright red slit of his dripping, slightly open nook to you. “Fuck me.” He growls, teeth bared and lips twitched up slightly in the sexiest snarl-grin you’ve ever had the fortune to see, eyes slightly hooded. He reaches back one hand and spreads his nook lips, his bulge twisting under him and oh fuck, that is literally the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, you’re pretty much stunned on the spot. He makes another growl to snap you out of it though, and you don’t think before your hands are on his hips and your tongue is buried deep in his nook, making him moan again, a breathy _ahhh!_ that has you dripping on the squishy mattress.

He tastes faintly sweet, which surprises you, but you don’t really have much experience doing this. It doesn’t seem like he cares for the difference, though, because he’s grinding against your face, fucking himself on your tongue with the best little cries of _deeper yes more like that_ and you’re only too happy to oblige, exploring his insides with the length of your tongue and pressing up against whatever spots make him make more of those noises. You suck a little on the lips of his nook, careful not to cut him on your teeth, and it fills you with pride to hear this sweet little slut practically sob with pleasure for you.

You can’t stand it any longer, your bulge is practically tying itself in a knot and you need to be in him _ten minutes ago_ if not more. You finally pull your face away from his nook and lick your lips as you take hold of your bulge and let the tip lick against his hot, dripping slit. It makes you shiver, and you can’t really hold back anymore so you don’t, digging your fingers into his hips and pushing forward in a way that makes him arch his back and moan so loud you wonder if anyone heard it through the music downstairs. The thought is almost as hot as his body squeezing around you, but you doubt anything can match up to that at the moment because goddamn, he’s wet and tight and so warm you’ve broken out into a sweat again, groaning as you stuff his tight little cunt without a care for how it’s probably making him hurt. You’re pretty big, you know as much, but even with how tight he is he takes you like a champ and the sight of your violet bulge just disappearing into the hotness of him makes you ache amazingly.

You bend over him and grab him by the hair, pushing him facedown into the mattress like you see in so much porn that you’re sure this is how it’s done, and if the way his nook convulses around you is any indication, it definitely is. You nip his ear and watch as a bead of red forms on the miniscule cut, and then you lick it up and groan right into his skin.

“You’re so fuckin’ good, squeezin’ my bulge like that, nnh,” You give him a really deep thrust, the tip practically squirming against his globes as you grind your hips into his plush ass. He’s squirming under you, practically fucking himself on your bulge, and you keep dirty talking right in his ear, his curly hair tickling against your nose. “Yeah, that’s right, babe, keep workin’ me over, you’re drippin’ like a _faucet.”_

It’s probably getting to be unsexy, the way he can’t breathe against the rubbery sheeting, so you finally let his head up and he gasps for air. His face is flushed and sweaty and his eyes are still so dark you could get lost in them, and you wrap your other arm around his waist and _squeeze,_ hold him in place so you can bury your face against the nape of his neck and breath in his smell while you fuck him into a shuddering mess.

“Cronus,” He moans your name in a single rush of breath before whatever else he’s trying to say is lost in more moaning and you bite his shoulder, leaving a bright mark where you break the skin. “ _Cronus, fuck!_ ”

“Yeah, just like that.” You croon into his ear and he whines when you grab his bulge, a good whine you hope as you start to stroke him in time to the movement of your hips. You can feel the wetness of his nook all over your legs; he’s literally dribbling all over your hand and the mattress, stickiness on your knees and thighs, and your own nook is feeling ignored but God, you don’t want to stop, don’t want to change anything, he’s so good around you.

Your bulge has managed to snake between his swollen globes and lick up to his seedflaps, and every time you shift you hear him trill and feel him squeeze, impossibly hot, God, you almost wonder if your bulge will be sore after this. Actually, you’re pretty sure it’s going to be sore, but in the good way because he’s squeezing and pulling and practically sucking you deeper but you’ve got nowhere deeper to go but his genebladder. The thought of fucking him _there_ nearly makes you cum on the spot, how hot would it be to say you were that big? But you manage to hold it off one way or another and keep muttering in his ear.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” You purr, rocking into him now rather than grinding in slow, tight circles; now every movement jolts him forward a little with short, rough thrusts. He keeps making so much noise, _more, ah, **yes** , _and your ego’s nearly as swollen as your bulge with it. You mouth his ear and pop off it with a pornographic little sucking noise. “Askin’ for so much when you’ve got me practically sheathe-deep in you, bet you’ve never had anyone in this deep with how tight you are and you’re still takin’ me so _good, hffuck,_ ”

You’re not sure what he just did but he went all tight around you, leaving you breathless. You can’t speak anymore at this point, just groaning and rutting into him while he keeps pleading with words all mushed up against his lips and teeth and the sloppy rubber sheeting. Whatever it is, it’s great, and you’re in a sort of rush now, spiraling higher and higher until something in you snaps and you push into him as deep as you can, spurting genetic material practically right into his genebladder. You swear you can feel it sucking you in, sucking on the tip of your bulge almost like a mouth, holy _shit,_ and he _screams_ as he cums too, gushing so hot around you that it feels like a warm bath but stickier.

You stay like that for a while, on top of him, slumped on the messy sheeting. It’s going to stick to you, going to glue you two together like this, your bulge is still in his nook even until he groans and turns you over, flopping you beside him and against the wall. You try to catch your breath after a fuck like that, and you’re dimly aware of him rooting through the drawer beside you and you smile a little. Is he looking for a smoke? Is someone his age even supposed to do that? Well, probably not, but no one really is. You’re still panting and about to ask what he’s looking for when he-

He fucking _throws some powdery shit up your sniffnode_ and you sneeze, then breathe some into your aeration sacs and start coughing, tears pricking in your eyes and holy shit _the stuff is in your eyes, what the fuck, what has he done to you._

You manage to squint at him while still wheezing, more of that dust getting deeper in you as you go you’re sure, and he’s- he’s got a rag covering his mouth as he watches you and there’s black, iridescent powder all over the fingers of his free hand. You’ve heard of this. You know what that is, that’s natantisine powder. That’s _spacedust._

The dust kicks in almost immediately, when you grab for his shoulders and he just slides away like it’s no trouble at all, and the world is going floaty around the edges. You can feel yourself wanting to move, you can feel your mind practically semi-solidify and move but you can’t get your arms to obey you, you can see them flopped outwards, reaching for him, but they won’t move. You whine in your throat. He looks down at you in something like disgust.

He takes the rag off his mouth and drops it back in the drawer, heads to the even more cramped, shitty ablutions block you hadn’t noticed on your way in but is still in your line of sight, so you can see his back to you, his ass and thighs still all covered in red and violet, still sex-sticky and he doesn’t even care to wash it off as he washes the dust off his hands like he’s done this a million times before, just sluices the worst of it off and flicks the globs into the cleanse basin. Fuck, he probably _has_ done this a lot. You’re suddenly even more worried, as if your pusher wouldn’t be beating in your mouth if it weren’t for the drugs keeping you so soft and relaxed.

He comes back to sit next to you, semi-clean now while you’re still covered in bodily fluids and drugs, and fishes an outdated flip-husk out of his jeans pocket from somewhere on the floor. Whoever he’s calling is on speed dial.

“I have one for you.” He says, businesslike. “Male, about nine or ten sweeps. Kind of lean, the cuts won’t be very high quality.” Cuts? What is he talking about, cuts? Your bloodpusher is hammering even harder now. “Tastes like nicotine; the aeration sacs won’t be very good but the gills are in okay quality.” Organs. He’s talking about your _organs, **they’re going to cut you up.**_

Somehow that doesn’t come off as horrifying as it should. It’s the dust; you know as much, has you floating inches above your own prone body, watching a honeytrap discuss what parts of you he’s going to sell off first. It goes on like that for a while, the sound of his raspy voice now less alluring and more faintly disturbing, until at last he puts down the husk and waits, watching the door. You try to watch the door too, at least as much as you can by turning your eyes downwards.

It isn’t long before the door opens and you see a pack of lowbloods enter; you can’t tell what colors they are except for the bronze up front because her eyes have filled in, but you know they can’t be over yellow because of the rough haggardness of their faces. There’s five of them, taller and older than Karkat; longer horns and teeth and limbs. He looks so soft and defenseless next to them.

“You did good, you nasty little bitch.” The brown at the fore of the group ruffles his hair with a bright grin, which makes him flinch, before she strides across the room to you. She takes a rag and wipes your face of crusting fluids and drug powder, then pinches your jaw between two fingers and turns your head from side to side. She licks her lips. You want to squirm.

“Yeah, this one’s all lean.” She lets go of your face and licks her lips again, the most predatory lick-lip you’ve seen in a long while and it’s coming from a lowblood like her; it’s a little unsettling. “But we’ll probably still get a pretty good price for him.”

She turns back to Karkat and the rest of the lowbloods in the room, and you can practically hear the grin in her voice. “Well, you’ve had your fun, barnacle nook; now it’s time for us to have a turn.”

Karkat grunts at her, but gathers his clothes off the floor, and that’s the last you can see of him as the sight of him is blocked off by the other four trolls who’d come in with the bronze. They leer down at you, blunt teeth and snaggleteeth and one of them with fearsomely glowing psion’s eyes. The bronze grabs you by one horn and lifts your head up slightly as she kneels on the mattress, and she sneers down at you cruelly.

“You stupid things fall for the same old trick every time.” She says, and starts dragging you off the platform by your horns, fuck; you’re worried she’s going to break your neck doing that as she yanks you onto the floor and you sprawl in a heap because of it. The other four trolls surround you, and you whimper in the back of your throat as one of them kneels behind you while the bronze still has her hand on your horn. The dust is still in full effect so while you’re aware of the hands on your skin, you’re only aware of them in a distant, slightly out-of-body sort of way, like a dream: Their hands are warm, not as warm as Karkat’s but still something you register; they’re spreading you out on the floor and you can practically watch yourself being manipulated like so much meat.

The psion kneels in front of you and bronze lifts your head at an angle that makes your neck creak. Psion forces your jaw open and sticks his fingers in your mouth, slightly salty and bitter and you realize he’s putting something over the serrated rows of your teeth, something rubber and metal that you couldn’t bite through even if you could move your jaw. You can move your tongue, sort of, weakly try to push his fingers out of your mouth but it only makes him chuckle and dig his nails into your palate. Your cheeks are wet and you’re not sure if you’re crying because you’re so scared or because it hurts more than you’re currently aware of.

“At least he’s kind of pretty, in that uppity seadweller way.” Someone behind you says. Bronze laughs again and suddenly her pants are open at the front, and you can see the dark writhe of her bulge gleaming in the low light. You’ve seen enough porn to know what comes next, and you don’t feel like any kind of star even though your bulge is still out, sluggishly painting your leg with your own fluids. You can hear the others getting ready too, muttering to themselves about tenderizing you, about how good you look like this, they’ll wreck you and eat you up and you really want your lusus to wake you up but you know full well that the dreamlike quality of everything isn’t because it’s actually a dream.

You’re lifted on several pairs of hands and the buzzy hum of psionics as someone angles themselves under you, hot, thick bulge coiling into your own. The way they’re doing things, you’re lifted partway sitting before being dropped again in someone’s bare lap; rough hands palm your chest as if they wish you had something to squeeze there, and something long and warm writhes against your ass.

Your head is turned to the side before you can see who’s set themselves in front of you, and your sight is filled up by a rustblood bulge halfway as large as yours, fuck, you didn’t know rustbloods could get that big. You whine in your throat again as your jaw is squeezed open and that massive bulge is fed in and in and _in._ Your throat is too slack to put up any real resistance even when you start to choke, start to feel like your guts are jumping for the chance to pour out past your teeth. They moan somewhere above you, rocking their hips back and forth while you’re forced to deepthroat them like you never knew you could.

“Yeah, just like that.” They murmur, and tears are prickling in your eyes and leaking down your face every time they press in, crushing your tonsils into the sides of your throat with sheer girth. The two pressing in on you take that as their cue to start moving, lining their bulges up with your nook and- and, fuck, no, there’s one pressing against your _chute,_ things aren’t supposed to go up _there_ , what the _hell._

It’s like whoever’s behind you noticed- bronze, you realize, because she chuckles and licks your aural fin, hot rasp of tongue that makes you want to recoil, and she _bites,_ hard enough to make you scream around the bulge in your mouth. The pain cuts right through the dreamy dust haze, sharpens everything around you into HD.

Apparently the rustblood fucking your face likes the screaming you’re doing; they groan and grab hold of your horns to steady you, and start fucking your face in earnest, strings of spit leaking down your chin with every wet, slapping thrust into your limp, sloppy mouth. You’re in too much pain to care, your eyes screwed shut as you feel bronze _pulling on your aural fin_ with her fucking _teeth._ She’s probably punched a hole or two in the membrane, judging by the sluggish dribble of something cool down your neck that can’t be her spit. She takes the time to really ravage that fin, too, and you’re wracked with sobs by the time she finally pushes her bulge into your chute.

It burns, not just because she’s so much warmer than you, but she’s thick around too. Not as long as the rustblood in your mouth, thankfully, but thicker anyway, and she only stopped savaging your ruined fin to moan into your neck, licking up the blood that’s pooled in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The troll with the bulge tangled in yours grins, a slice of yellowy-white teeth in the darkness, before you feel them take hold of your bulge and they untangle themselves. The heat of their bulge licks across the folds of your nook, and you were complaining about it being empty before but now you don’t want anyone anywhere near it.

Not that they care. They push right in, groaning at the tightness of you while bronze does the same; now that you’re full in both holes down there, it’s much tighter than you would have anticipated, and it _hurts_ ; stretching, burning, filling pain, and you _really_ wonder what it is these Alternian kids are getting their hands on because all three of the bulges in you might not be the biggest you’ve ever _seen_ but they are the biggest you’ve ever _felt._ These trolls feel like they’re going to rip you apart.

You don’t get the chance to adjust, bronze and whoever’s filling your nook decide you’ve had enough time and start moving in short, rutting thrusts that are already too much; their bulges feel like they’re trying to twine into each other through the membrane separating your nook and your chute, their bodies crowding around you, all lowblood heat and slick skin and you can’t breathe, your gills flaring painfully in a desperate bid to get oxygen _somehow._

Fingers find the edge of your opercula and you start screaming again, screaming around the bulge still rutting into your mouth, pleading, as those fingers peel them back and it hurts so bad you didn’t know anything could hurt like that. They’re overwhelmingly slow and gentle about it, but that just makes it worse, slowly prying open something that shouldn’t be pulled that way.

“Look at that.” They say, a new voice kneeling beside you. “Wonder what it’d be like to get my bulge in there.” And you _really_ scream at that suggestion, keep screaming and trying to move in futile little twitches until they shake their head and decide otherwise. “Nah, the edge is too sharp. Wouldn’t want to ruin the filaments anyway.” You would breathe out in relief if you could breathe out more than the bulge in your mouth allows.

Instead you feel hands taking your floppy wrists and hold your arms up; you still can’t see past the rustblood facefucking you, but you can feel your fingers being uncurled and then wrapped around two slimmer bulges, still fever-warm but you can close around them without too much trouble. They hold your hands in place and let their bulges squirm through the tunnels of your loosely-curled fists, and somehow it brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes; not because it hurts but because it underlines what you are to them, nothing more than bits and pieces.

You don’t get to ponder that very long, because they’re all moving at once, filling you at once, bitter and earthy and so, so warm, almost as warm as Karkat. You can’t believe you’re thinking of Karkat right now, while you’re being fucked in every hole and then some. Bronze is mouthing at your ruined earfin again, sucking on the painful tatters she’s left behind. Psion- the one fucking your nook- is purring against you, kissing up your throat like a lover.

“Taking us so good, slut.” He murmurs, bucking his hips sharply. You want to claw off the lining of your nook and everywhere else he’s touching you, especially when he smooths his hands up over your throat and starts to squeeze. Your eyes roll back and you can’t see anything at all, all you’re left with is the smell and sound and feel of them fucking you raw.

The rustblood cums first, a hot gush down your throat that fills you near bursting already; your gut swells with it, liquid sloshing in your belly every time psion and bronze grind and bounce you between them. Once they pull out, it’s not a long wait before one of your hands falls limp at your side, fingers sticky with rapidly-cooling genetic material before your mouth is full again. It’s a bit easier this time, this bulge smaller, but still it curls against the inside of your throat in a way that tickles wrong, in a way that makes you want to throw up everything you’ve just swallowed.

Psion cums next, his bulge reaching so far into you that it licks at your shameglobes and the hot spurt of his genetic material feels like a burn, makes your own bulge writhe with it. He stays inside you through the whole thing, until your seedflaps open up and suck the whole mess into your material bladder. It presses uncomfortably against your other bladder and your guts, and the places where bronze has bent your insides the wrong way with her bulge; you feel like you’re about to burst, you can’t possibly take any more, and you make drooly, messy noises around the bulge in your mouth to try and communicate as much but all you achieve is fingers tightening around the bases of your horns as the yellowblood in your mouth practically slams against your teeth.

Psion doesn’t stop fucking you, though; if anything, that first orgasm only urges him into fucking you more, rolling his hips hotly against you and letting his bulge stretch you further as it writhes. You can feel some of the material that you couldn’t take dribbling out of you, pooling under you.

It isn’t long after that, that you feel hot cum splashing against the side of your face. Whoever’d been fucking your hand angled their bulge just right to paint you with it, and psion and bronze growl when some of it gets on them but they take it out on you. You arch your back in pain with a high-pitched keen as they rake claws down your sides, though you find yourself _thankful_ of all things when they deign to avoid your gillslits. They growl something at their friend, who only chuckles and lets their still-writhing bulge at your face, sliding through the mess they left before forcing itself alongside the yellowblood’s with a moan. You’re a little scared the stretch is going to split your cheeks; there’s too much going on there, though it’s a small mercy that the new position means the yellowblood can’t get quite as deep as they did earlier.

A small mercy, because like this you can _taste_ it when the yellowblood cums. It’s different from Karkat’s taste, Karkat’s was a thin, clean hint of something warm on your tongue, but this tastes thick and salty and impossible to ignore, disgustingly so. You have no choice but to swallow or choke, it’s not much of a choice at all really, but it sends shudders down your whole body. You’re so full it _hurts_.

They keep it up, using you, moving you how they please. Your mouth is filled again and this time you _do_ get sick, thick, soupy material and bile rushing past your teeth as your digestive sac clenches and heaves it all out, all over the floor; more tears sting your eyes and psion slaps you across the face which only makes the worst of it hit him.

You can hardly feel what they do to you after that. You know psion pulled out and left your broken, leaking nook dribbling all over the floor, and bronze pushed you down all over your sick to fuck you like an animal. She growls in your ear through the whole thing, hips thumping against your ass, and you’ve regained just enough control to clench your jaw and try not to whimper when finally she fills you up. You feel like you’re going to be sick again, full and covered with their mixed fluids.

She pulls out and you feel something wet and warm spill over your back at the same time her own genetic material starts leaking down your legs and you slide pathetically forward in the puddle. Apparently psion was still getting off to the show. He turns you over with his powers and you’re too exhausted to even try to fight it, even with the dust wearing off; he nudges your thighs apart and you can feel the air cool on your nook and the entrance to your chute. You’re probably gaping at least a little from how rough they fucked you, and you feel another stab of humiliation at the fact when you hear the faint clicks and snaps of them taking pictures of you lying in puddles of vomit and cum, stained with it and assorted other bodily fluids.

“Hmm, I think it’s missing a little something.” Rustblood says, before you feel someone’s foot on your belly. You whine in the back of your throat as it slides down a little lower, over both your bladders, and it starts to press down. The pressure builds slowly at first, then gets more urgent, and you find yourself realizing _exactly_ what they mean to do.

It’s too much. You sob as you struggle to hold it back, and they laugh around you when you inevitably fail, soiling yourself further as genetic material gushes out of your nook and ass, and you piss yourself like a wriggler. You’re so disgusted that you start crying again, and you hate them so much you’re practically frozen with it; not the exhilarating hate of pitch, but the kind of hate where you want them to do worse than die for everything they’ve just done. You want to curl up in a ball and go home. You want your lusus.

For a while they just talk to each other, companionable and warm as if they hadn’t just violated you in every hole and forced you to void your insides all over yourself. You stew in fluids and self-pity until suddenly bronze speaks and makes everything come into sharp focus again.

“Alright, let’s pack it up and go. Nikita, Dieven, you’re cleaning up this mess this time. Thalas, kill him.”

 _Now_ you squirm. You kick uselessly, try to get your feet under you, fingers curling and uncurling as your eyes go wide when rustblood comes in and puts their hands on either side of your head. You look up into their eyes, see your terrified face reflected in the darkness of them before you hear a horrible crack and everything goes dark.

~!~

Your name is Karkat Vantas and it’s finally pay day. Not that you get paid in ceagars, which you wish was the case, but at least you get something out of the deal. It’s not even like they _need_ to pay you; you’re stuck working for them whether you like it or not, considering they know about your blood and clean up everyone else who finds out about it.

Still, when they hand you the box of frozen meat, you feign gratefulness until you’re out of sight and earshot, in which case you grumble to yourself that you have to sell off most of what you get at a fifth of the price it’s actually worth just to get food that’ll last you until the next supply drop to your area. It sucks, but it works for you. You eat a little better than the people in the nearby lawnrings for it, even when you end up sacrificing the meat they gave you in the first place.

It’s not even the good stuff; it’s always the lean cuts off the limbs that they couldn’t sell off to any of their usual bidders. But food is food, even if it used to be someone you pailed once.

You find yourself thinking about that. It’s kind of sad, really; he was a good fuck, which came as a surprise, and you find yourself just the tiniest bit regretful that he got what he did: Limbs cut off, organs harvested, and whatever they couldn’t cut into sushi was used as the bowl they artfully presented his pieces in for the trolls that wanted to know what seadweller tasted like.

The taste isn’t much in your opinion. You suppose it’s the statement it makes that attracts trolls to the practice. At any rate, anyone stupid enough to fall for an act like yours probably got what was coming to them, and at least the way you do it, the meat isn’t wasted like with a traditional culling. You’re doing the Empire a service this way, cleansing the genepool of the dumber seadwellers where the drones won’t cull them just because of their blood.

You shake the thoughts off and take a shuttlebug home. It’s time to take your part of your pay before you have to sell the rest off anyway, and you have to do it before Crabdad gets a whiff of the stuff and eats it all again. It’s not great, but it’s a living.


End file.
